Gemotions

The sunlight felt too bright, searing into Eleanor's eyes as she sat on the park bench. The rejection letter from 'Phoenix Press' lay crumpled in her lap, a testament to her creative failure. She couldn't understand why. She reread the document, searching for meaning that wasn’t there. A flock of pigeons strutted by, their aimless pecking a stark mirror to her own current pursuits.

She watched a toddler attempt to feed a persistent duck, a scene of vibrant, untroubled happiness. Resentment, sharp and immediate, flared within her. She wanted that simplicity, that unburdened joy. She wanted something to fill the vast emptiness growing within her.

She rose to her feet, brushing off the imaginary dust on her coat. The park suddenly felt claustrophobic. She longed for something, anything, to break the monotony. The words of her manuscript ran through her head, and she wanted to scream.